Night Whispers
by Oboebyrd
Summary: --Now Complete!-- The gang is snowed in at Whispers Inn, a ratty hotel in the middle of nowhere. But Whispers Inn has a few secrets, some of which that will prove deadly.
1. To Tops

****

Night Whispers

Rating: R, for violence, language, and graphic content

Disclaimer: I don't own Scooby-Doo. I'm sure you'll all be pleased that I don't. At least near the end. And I'm sure all Michiganders will be pleased to know I don't own Michigan. I just felt like putting it there, because, well, I know how much snow we get. ^_^

Summary Chapter 1: The Gang is snowed in at a large, nearly deserted hotel this side of nowhere. 

****

Chapter 1: _To Tops_

Everything was as it should be once again.

After the disturbing mystery with the so called 'Were-Raven' had come to an end, the gang had been exhausted. Scooby and Shaggy had each claimed to be more tired than the other. More tired, and more hungry.

Even now, as the van rattled north, they would more than just occasionally petition Fred to pull over at a rest stop, so that they could take full advantage of the always well-stocked Michigan Vending Machines.

"We stopped ten miles back, guys." Velma said disapprovingly, after another plea-bargain from the back seat.

"Besides, the weather is getting a lot worse. We need to get to a hotel, or someplace to stay, before we loose the road entirely." Fred added.

"Well, okay. Like, but you'll be held responsible when Scoob and I die of starvation." Shaggy said, crossing his arms and trying his very best to look stern from the back of the van.

"Reah!" Scooby agreed. 

Daphne turned slightly, shaking her head with disapproval at Shaggy and Scooby's antics. "Can you two be any more morbid? Stop talking about dying. It's not like we don't have enough to worry about."

"Exactly. Check out those clouds…" Velma said, and pointed out towards the front of the van. Hanging low in the sky were clouds the color of darkness, so dark as to seem to be night onto itself. They loomed threateningly ahead.

"Whose bright idea was it to come this far north in the middle of December, anyhow?" Daphne asked darkly.

There was a long silence as Velma, Shaggy, and Scooby all turned to stare at her.

"O…kay, it was mine. But you guys have never listened to me before…" 

Fred shook his head, grinning. "It's okay, Daphne, this is a great adventure, though not necessarily the kind we had in mind. Hopefully the bridge won't be closed… we can make Newberry in two hours." 

"New-what?" Shaggy asked, perking up in the back.

"New rerry?" Scooby asked, and licked his lips.

"Not Newberry itself- the smaller city north of it. Oh… there's the bridge up ahead." Velma said cheerfully.

When one sees the Mackinaw Bridge, one is not necessarily close to it. The convoluted streets just outside of Mackinaw City led every which way, and at speeds of 70 miles an hour. What little traffic there was today, however, was crawling along at half that speed, unwilling to risk higher speeds as the snow and ice increased.

Shaggy and Scooby had their faces pressed against the back windows of the Mystery Machine as they drove through Mackinaw. "Oh… fudge! Let's stop! Oh… food! Let's stop! Look! Jerky! Let's stop!"

"Ralt rater raffy!" Scooby exclaimed. 

"Fudge!" The two shouted at the same time.

"We can get some on the way back, or if they don't let us across the bridge. Now is really not the time to be slowing down our trip anymore than we already have." Fred replied.

"Like, you have a point." Shaggy said after a moment, observing the roiling stormclouds ahead. He really didn't feel like driving into those, but nothing short of closed road would stop Fred when he had a destination in mind.

"Caution- High Winds. No speeds over thirty miles an hour." Velma read off of the sign posted beside the road just before they crossed the bridge. "Oh, great…" She glanced out over the water, which was roiling like a beast ready to attack. "Maybe Shag and Scoob are right, Fred… it wouldn't be so bad to stay here for a day…"

"Well, it's too late, we're already on the bridge. No exits from here." Replied Fred, shaking his head.

The Mystery Machine was the only vehicle that was daring the shaking, groaning suspension bridge. Every second, a gust of wind would try to push the van over the edge of the bridge. The wind seemed to constantly shove the van towards the edge. It howled like a living beast.

The trip progressed slowly. The wind only seemed to grow in strength the further north they went, and the gale was joined by snow and small chips of hail.

The weather only got worse, and Fred agreed to stop at Surrey, a tiny town whose only features were a restraunt, a sheriff's office, and a hotel fifteen miles away, a tiny town a short thirty-nine miles from their destination. Another two treacherous hours on the increasingly dangerous roads. Snow was falling from the sky in harsh wet clumps. The snow attached itself firmly to the windshield, and then froze onto the windshield wipers. Every few minutes Fred was forced to reach out into the snow and bang the wipers against the windshield to free the ice, and pulled his hand back in pock marked with tiny red welts from the immutable hail.

Fred parked the Mystery Machine at the top of the hill as close as they could get to the hotel, and the gang hurried inside.

Though the hotel appeared spacious from without, within it was cramped. It was clean, and the furniture was dated but immaculately kept. There was just too much of it in the lobby.

A television rattled aware one severe weather warning after another. Tornados in Kent. Thunderstorms in Kalkaska. Twelve-foot waves in Marquette. All of Michigan seemed in tumult, and the back-woods city in the Upper Peninsula was no different. 

"Ahem."

The gang turned, startled, and Fred headed over to the desk, where a black-haired, weasel-faced young man stood. His eyes darted around the gang as if sizing them up, and rested finally on Scooby. "No pets."

"He doesn't make a mess." Fred replied. "We have nowhere else to go- the storm forced us off the road here."

"We have rooms a plenty open." The weasel-faced man replied. "But no pets allowed."

"We can let this one go, Jake," Another man replied, this one broader in girth and of smile, who had just appeared behind the counter. "There aren't many guests here, and I don't want to be responsible for a bunch of kids getting killed in a snowstorm."

"Right, Mr. McCullogh, it's your hotel." 'Jake' replied, stepping aside.

"Now there, young lad," The jolly old man said, stepping up to the counter, "How many rooms would you like?"

"Two would be fine." Fred replied.

"Right, well, that will be forty seven dollars per room… but I insist you pay before you go, not now. Nobody stays at Whispers Inn as long as they plan." Mr. McCullogh said with a wink, sliding two room keys across the table.

  
"What does _that_ mean?" Daphne wondered, looking slightly worried.

McCullogh grinned, and waved one hand dismissively. "Just that people don't tend to stay, is all, lass, don't worry about it." Jake grinned. "Now, we serve breakfast at 8 AM…"

  
"Breakfast?" Shaggy and Scooby said at once, trading excited glances.

"…but because of this snow storm, we'll be serving all the other meals, as well. There's no way to make it from here to the town when the snow's up." McCullogh continued, as if he hadn't heard the two interrupt him. 

Velma turned back towards the television. "A record snow-fall of twelve feet is expected in Luce county- better get your electric blankets, folks, because where ever you are now is where you'll be staying for a long time." The newscaster reported cheerfully.

Velma's eyes widened. They were in Luce county… right at the heart of it. And twelve feet… that seemed meteorologically impossible! She looked back out the window. The snow was falling with a vengeance, and showed no signs of stopping. The Mystery Machine was already covered- only a few strips of its gaily colored paint-job could be seen. The rest of it was a mass of snow. 

How long would it take for the snow-plow service to come? Was there even a snow-plow service in this small city? 

Velma shivered. It looked like they would be staying at Whispers Inn for a very long time.

~~End Chapter One~~

I hope you all enjoyed this first installment. More is to come, and it will eventually get up to the rating I posted it as… I promise. ^_^

~~~~Oboebyrd


	2. Houseguest

****

Night Whispers

Rating: R, for violence, language, and graphic content

Disclaimer: I don't own Scooby-Doo. Obviously. I mean, I'm in High School. I wasn't even born when Scooby-Doo was created. 

Summary Chapter 2: The gang learns a little bit more about Whispers Inn, and the people staying there.

Just a little note: I live in another one of the big LP cities. Mrs. Saur is based on a real person I met in Marquette in a tour group. She called us trolls, but since the other girl was from Wisconsin, I think it was directed at me. ^_^

****

Chapter 2: _Houseguest_

As soon as the gang was free of the cramped lobby, they found more freedom in the halls.

The halls were not heated, and were only slightly better than the frigid weather outside. The only solace was the protection they offered from the raging elements outside.

"Well, these are our rooms… 116 and 117." Fred said, handing the key for 117 to Velma.

"Funny, you wouldn't think this place had so many rooms in it." Velma noted, as she jiggled the key in the lock. 

"Like, they're probably small. They always are in these back-woods places." Shaggy noted, rubbing his arms as he waited impatiently for Fred to unlock the door.

"Backwoods?" A voice yelped from behind them. The entire gang jumped, and Scooby leapt into Shaggy's arms, shaking.

The woman who had spoken was dressed in a worn out, sooty-brown robe. It went down to about mid-calf, and hung nearly disastrously far-open on the top. Her short black hair exploded, un-tamed, on her head, and her dark gray eyes radiated disapproval. "Backwoods?" She repeated, indignant.

"Sorry ma'am, we meant no-" Daphne began, but the old lady cut her off.

"I don't want to hear it from you, miss! Speak up, you blasphemer!" She shrieked, pointing at Shaggy with one crooked finger.

"Ah… uh… like, sorry?" Shaggy offered, trying to hide himself behind Scooby, who did serve as a relatively good door.

"Sorry for WHAT?" She demanded sternly.

"Like sorry for calling this place back-woods…" Shaggy began, but she cut him off again.

"Can you say a sentence without saying 'like', young man?" The woman demanded.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but it's just that we're from a larger city, and he didn't necessarily-" Fred began.

The woman stopped him in mid-sentence once again. "You're from the Lower Peninsula, huh? I knew it! You trolls! All of you! I bet you're from Grand Rapids, you little monsters! You'll get your comeuppance! We don't like you trolls here!"

With that she turned and disappeared into her room, slamming the door behind her.

There was a very long pause.

"That was different…" Velma ventured, after a minute. She turned to Shaggy, who still looked terrified, though he had put down Scooby. "It's okay, Shaggy."

"Like, I know it's okay… now! But I don't want her coming up to me in the middle of the night, or something! Like, I'll have nightmares!" Shaggy replied.

Another man stopped on his way down the hall, and smiled at the kids. "I heard her shouting all the way down the hall. Don't worry about Mrs. Saur, there… she's just a little off her rocker. We don't mind you trolls at all."

He continued down the hall.

"But we're not even from Michigan…" Fred began.

"The next person that calls me a troll is going to die." Daphne announced vehemently, her face turning as red as her hair.

"It's not at all necessary for those people to be so rude." Velma noted, adjusting her glasses on her face.

"Like, let's NOT discuss this in these halls, okay?" Shaggy asked, taking the key from Fred and opening the door.

  
The gang all gathered in the boys' room, shutting the door firmly behind them. It was a little too large for the frame.

Inside the room, it was blessedly warm. A heater thrummed contentedly away in the corner, and the gang gathered around it, chafing their frozen hands and trading confused glances around the room.

"You know, I had my suspicions about these Michigan people, but these folks are a little worse than I expected." Velma said after a moment.

"I'm still wondering about what Mr. McCullogh said," Daphne said, shivering. "'Nobody stays as long as they planned'… kind of creepy." 

Fred nodded. "I'm wondering how he meant it… do people get driven out of here? And if so… why?"

"I think we'll have plenty of time to figure it out, though… did you happen to catch the weather forecast?" Velma asked. The rest of the gang shook their heads no. Velma sighed. "It was on the television in the lobby. Luce county… that's the county were in… is expected to get twelve feet. _Twelve feet_."

"Like, maybe they meant 'inches'…" Shaggy offered.

"I heard what I heard." Velma replied. "Feet."

"But that's impossible." Fred protested, and glanced out the window. Snow was still falling heavily.

"Evidently not." Velma said. She walked over to the window, and peered out. "I can't even see the Mystery Machine… it's just a big lump of snow, now."

"We've going to have some digging out to do before we go… that's for sure." Fred said.

"A lot of digging out, I'd say." Daphne noted. "For twelve feet of snow, we just might have to wait until the spring thaw."

"Well, all of this talking about digging is making me hungry. What do you say, Scoob? Like, wanna go check out the pantry?" Shaggy asked, turning to his canine companion.

"Reah!" Scooby exclaimed excitedly, wagging his tail wildly.

The two headed to the door. Shaggy turned just before the door closed behind him. "Like, you coming, guys?"

"It's 8 PM. I'm not really hungry." Fred replied.

"Just watch out for Mrs. Saur-puss out there, guys." Velma said with a laugh.

"Saur-puss! Like, that's hilarious!" Shaggy exclaimed.

The door shut behind him, but didn't quite close all the way. Fred headed over to push it completely shut. As soon as he did, he began to hear some whispering from just behind him. He turned around. "Was that you, Velma? Daphne?"

"'Was that us' what?" Daphne asked.

"That… whispering noise." Fred said, looking around. It had faded now.

"Oh, Freddy, if you're trying to scare us, stop. Just because the place is called 'Whispers Inn' doesn't mean you have to make a joke about it." Daphne said, crossing her arms.

"I wasn't joking. I heard something." Fred replied.

"It was probably the wind." Velma said. She looked back out the window. She would call the noise the wind was making a howl more than a whisper, truthfully.

The storm was bad, and it looked like it would get much worse.

~~~~

When there was food involved, Shaggy and Scooby never seemed to get lost. They had never been in the Whispers Inn before, but managed to find the kitchen in three minutes flat.

It was deserted, and whether that was good for the duo or bad for the hotel was yet unknown. "I can't find any food in this crazy place." Shaggy complained.

"Me neither." Scooby replied, sniffing around the pantry door. 

"Let's check out the fridge." Shaggy exclaimed, pointing towards a large walk-in freezer at the other side of the room.

"You won't find any food in there, boys." A crackling voice said suddenly from behind them.

The two turned with yelps of surprise, only to find a short old woman, hardly taller than Velma, standing there. She had a cook's hat on over wiry hair, but her eyes shone bright from her wrinkled face. "You two must really be hungry, 'eh?"

"Y-yeah." Shaggy said, and then, afraid of another incident like the one with Mrs. Saur, added, "Like, sorry for barging in on your kitchen, ma'am."

"Oooh, I love to see two young boys with a healthy appetite! All our food has just been delivered from the restraunt down the street… a few hours back being recent, but when you're as old as I am, time can learn to wait! If you boys will help me move those crates in here, then I'll whip you up a _real_ treat!" The old woman exclaimed.

"Like, you have yourself some errand boys!" Shaggy exclaimed.

"Reah! Show rus ro the rood!" Scooby agreed, saluting sharply.

The old woman turned out to be named Cynthia Anthony, a life-long cook and very nearly a life-long employee of Whispers Inn. She listened with cheerfully polite interest to Shaggy and Scooby's recounting of their encounters with Mrs. Saur and the other man.

"Ah… that'd be Phillip Blank, our only other guests, besides you and old Saur-kraut. Don't pay them any heed. They give all of us here a bad name, without a doubt! There! That's the last of it!"

With the crates now moved to their real home, the kitchen seemed full… a little more alive. Cynthia began to remove items out of each one of the crates. "Now… you two look like enterprising individuals. How'd you like to try my Blueberry Surprise?" She asked, waving a package of dried blueberries tantalizingly through the air.

Shaggy and Scooby's eyes followed the package as if hypnotized. "Like, if it's food, we'll eat it!"

"Rand how!" Scooby agreed, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth.

"That's the spirit! Now, it's time to get cooking!"

~~~~~

Somewhere in the hotel, a grandfather clock struck eleven. Daphne and Fred looked up from where they had been sitting next to each other by the window, watching the snow turn the Mystery Machine into a formless mound only slightly distinguishable from the rest of the landscape.

Velma yawned. She had been sitting on the edge of the bed, absentmindedly going over everything that had happened that day. She was still troubled by the alarming… and impossible… amount of snow that was supposed to fall in one night, what McCullogh had said, and the oddness of old Mrs. Saur.

"It's awfully late. I wonder if Shag and Scoob are ever coming back?" Daphne wondered, stretching.

"I doubt it. If they found food, we may never see them again." Velma joked, and shook her head. "Look, it's late, and I don't feel like waiting up for them anymore." She picked up the keys. "Coming, Daph?"

"Yes… just one moment." Daphne replied, turning back towards the window for a moment.

"Well, okay, just knock when you're done. If I'm not awake, there should be a battering ram in the hall." Velma said, laughed, and let herself out of the boy's room, only with some difficulty closing the too-large door.

When Velma was gone, Daphne turned towards Fred, leaning her head against her shoulder. "Some adventure, huh? We go from the middle of a snowstorm to this crazy place. I hope the snow lets up soon. This place gives me the creeps."

Fred grinned, and took her hands in his own. "There's something going on here… I'm sure of that. We'll just have to wait and see what it is."

The two stared at each other for another few minutes. There was a long silence. Finally, Daphne stood up. She looked rather angry. "Well, goodnight, Fred." She said, heading quickly towards the door. 

When she couldn't close it, she left the door hanging open, and rapped impatiently on Velma's door. Her friend opened up, let her in and asked, expectantly, "Well?"

"Nothing." Daphne said in annoyance, sitting down on the edge of the bed that Velma hadn't claimed. "He's denser than I thought."

"Aren't they all?

Fred closed the door, pulling it shut. He locked it, though he knew that meant waking up whenever Scooby and Shaggy decided to stop eating to let them in, but he didn't feel particularly comfortable leaving the doors unlocked.

As soon as he lay down and closed his eyes, the whispers began again. He shut them out with some difficulty.

No matter what Velma said. He was certain there were more to the whispers than the wind.

With that uncomfortable thought in mind, Fred fell into a troubled sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Oboebyrd: Yay! I feel uncomfortable asking this, since I preach against it, but if you liked it, tell me! I love feedback. But sssh! Don't tell anyone I asked for it! ^_^ 


	3. A Dish Best Not Served

****

Night Whispers

Rating: R, for violence, language, and graphic content

Disclaimer: Guess what. I still don't own Scooby-Doo, despite my violent attempts to take over Cartoon Network and rule with an iron fist. Who knew Eustace and Muriel were so handy with machine guns? ^_^ 

Summary Chapter 3: Shaggy has overstayed his welcome at Whispers Inn…

****

Chapter 3: _A Dish Best Not Served_

Fred woke up, yawned, and rolled onto his side. It felt good to just sleep in, without having any sort of deadline, any alarm to wake him up. He felt sort of dizzy, but he attributed it to exhaustion from driving so long yesterday.

He peered out the window, only to find it was cast in complete darkness. 

It still couldn't be so late… he rolled out of bed, and headed over to the window. It wasn't dark out… the window had been completely covered in snow. 

That meant that the first floor was completely covered with snow. "I guess there really were twelve feet of snowfall… hey Shaggy, Scooby… wake up, check this out."

He turned, and froze. Shaggy wasn't in bed.

"I guess he got up early and went to get some breakfast." He said, shrugged, and began to get dressed.

Scooby finally awoke from his comatose position on the bed, and yawned. "Where's Rhaggy?" Scooby asked, looking around.

"I think he left you behind to get some food, Scoob." Fred replied. He yawned absentmindedly. It seemed to be getting hotter in the room, and he was getting tired once again.

The Great Dane looked taken aback, and poked his ears forward. "Rood without me? Ri'll rhow him!" Scooby exclaimed, boxed forward a pretend hand, and strutted out of the room, only having minimal difficulty with the door, now that it had been pushed closed so many times.

There was a light knock on the door as soon as it closed. "You okay, Fred?" Daphne's voice called.

"That really depends on your definition of it, I suppose." Fred called back.

There was a long silence from the other side. After a moment, Fred heard Velma say, "I say we break down the door and go in."

"Hold on, hold on, I'm coming." Fred said. He tied his ascot, and went to open the door.

Daphne and Velma both looked somewhat haunted, though relieved to see him. "What's wrong?" 

"Have you _looked_ outside?" Daphne demanded.

"Yes… we're really snowed in. The windows are all blocked off." Fred agreed.

"No, that's not what we're talking about. That's only part of it." Velma said. She bent down by the grating of the vent, and began pulling the cover off.

"What're you doing, Velma?" Fred asked, bending down next to her. While he usually respected Velma's ideas, and sometimes-abstract concepts, this seemed a little more destructive than helpful.

Velma began to pull handful after handful of plastic wrap from the vent. Some of it came out with difficult. "This stuff was stapled in the vents. Daphne and I noticed something shining from our vent this morning. Coupled with the door… which is airtight… and the snow that just piled up over the windows…"  
  
"If you spent another night in there, all three of you would have-" Daphne began.

"Suffocated." Fred finished for her. "But oh God… that means that someone is trying to kill us." _No wonder the room was getting so hot…_ he thought, with slight horror at how close they had nearly come to an eternal sleep.

"I think I know now why people don't complete their stay at Whispers Inn." Velma said, her voice low.

"We've got to warn Shag and Scooby. They could be in danger." Fred said.

At that exact moment, a blood-curdling howl exploded through the hotel, carrying with it the sound of pain, loss, sadness…

"Oh no…"

Followed by a cry audible throughout the building…

"RRHAAAAAAAAAAAAGGYYYYY!!!!!!!"

~~~~~

No matter how fast you run, you're always late. Too late.

"Oh… Scooby…" Daphne said, laying one hand gently across the Great Dane's back.

The dog stood guard over his fallen master, sorrow etched in every contour of his body. His tail hung listlessly, draped over the ground.

Velma knelt down next to Shaggy, laying one hand first on his wrist, then at the side of his neck. "H-he's dead…"

This invoked another ear-splitting howl from Scooby. Fred stood in stunned silence. "Couldn't we… call an ambulance? Or…" Daphne began hesitantly, tears tracing small rivers down her cheeks.

"Nothing could get through that snow." Velma interrupted. 

It was then that Phillip Blank and old Mrs. Saur came into the room. Both of them looked stunned, the old lady clasping one hand over her heart, Blank stopping as if transfixed.

"My god… what happened here?" Blank asked hesitantly.

Velma sat back onto her feet and thighs, a strange mixture of emotions slowly working itself across her face. "I… I don't know…"

There was not a mark on the young man… none that they could see out-right, at least. 

"Who would do such a thing to such a nice young man?" Mrs. Saur demanded in her raspy voice.

Velma broke out into heart-wrenching sobs, no longer able to contain it. Daphne began to cry once again as well, hugging her best friend close. "Velma… oh Velma…"

Without word or preamble Daphne led her from the room.

That left Fred, Blank, Saur, and Scooby, the latter who was in no inclination to do anything but whimper mournful sobs. 

For a long moment, there was silence. Then, Fred demanded, "Where's McCullogh and that little rat of an assistant of his?" He demanded, his hands clenching into fists.

"I haven't seen them today…" Blank began.

"I'll find them." Fred said, and stalked from the room.

__

No one stays as long as they choose in Whispers Inn, hmm? Fred thought. _When I find those bastards, they'll regret giving me even THAT small of a clue!_

~~~~~~~~~

Oboebyrd: Short chapter, but that was harder for me to write than I thought. If you were wondering, here is where the rating begins to escalate, so if you were wondering why I have it posted as 'R', the next few chapters will show you why. 


	4. A Heavy Burden to Bear

****

Night Whispers

Rating: R, for violence, language, and graphic content

Disclaimer: Still don't own Scooby-Doo, though I just suddenly realized I'm a bigger Fred fan than I thought. Huh. Always thought Daph was my favorite. Ah well. Hanna-Barbara owns Scooby-Doo, and I thank them for bringing this fine cartoon to my small world. (And other's worlds, of course.) 

Summary Chapter 4: The snow continues to fall, and oh! Poor Scooby's more than heart broken…

****

Chapter 4: _A Heavy Burden to Bear_

_Welcome to Whispers Inn,_

Please, Enjoy your stay.

We'll greet you with a friendly grin,

Each time you pass our way.

There's a room for everyone,

With no rude neighbors to be seen,

And we'll treat you well under moon or sun,

And everywhere between.

Yes come to our exciting hotel,

Where the rooms are always cheap,

I assure you you'll have stories to tell,

If in our mysteries you delve not too deep.

Scooby sobbed even more when Fred left him and his dear master alone with these two strange people, both of which had called his master a troll, and one of which whom he was completely terrified of.

"Rhaggy… Rhaggy!" He whimpered again.

Only with some difficulty were the two strangers able to convince Scooby that his best friend should be moved to one of the hotel rooms, where he could be set on a bed. Then, Scooby would not leave his master's side, perched at the closed door, shedding great, Dane-sized tears.

Velma, too, was still sobbing, her glasses discarded on the table near the bed, and her face buried in what served as a pillow at old Whispers Inn. Daphne sat at the side of her bed, one hand resting on either one of Velma's shoulders, occasionally murmuring something that might have been conciliatory, or might have just been the noises made by one who shares in sorrow.

Daphne knew as well as anyone that there was no release as great as the simple ability to cry. Tears eased that burden heaviest on the human soul… grief.

Fred knew no grief, at least, not yet, while he was still too full of burning rage to consider any other emotion. He had arrived at the front desk, and slammed through the thigh-level barrier, breaking the flimsy, rusted-over eyebolt lock as he did.

But though he searched through the entire office, he found no one. Nothing. There was no sign of a hurried exit, no evacuation of materials, no overturned furniture, nothing.

He threw open the closet door.

The whispering began once again.

Glistening white in the sudden light let in from the lobby, stacked bone upon bone, were at least fifteen human skeletons, placed there carefully among the mops and buckets, ant-spray and bee killer. Sitting, carefully labeled and beautifully displayed on the shelf with the sponges were human skulls.

Scooby-Doo was becoming restless.

He had no true desire to leave his post guarding Shaggy's door, but had finally come to the realization that it really did no good.

Instead, he was filled with an emotion quite unheard of for the gentle, rollicking Great Dane… anger.

As there had been no mark on Shaggy, Scooby was confused to who he should actually hunt out. So, he went sniffing for the old lady, Cynthia, hoping to find her, or hoping she would be somewhere near the manager and his ferret-faced friend. He, too, had come to the same conclusion as Fred… the manager's ill-heeded warning was more suspect than omen.

He had little luck in locating her scent. She had smelled of, in their short encounter in the kitchen, lilac and blueberries, a distinctive scent that he couldn't have missed had it been somewhere in the halls. 

After a long time of unsuccessful searching, he fell upon Fred's scent, and followed it to the front office. When Scooby approached the blonde, who was staring into one of the supply closets in transfixed horror, he wagged his tail rather feebly and asked, "Ranything?"

Fred turned, shutting the door quickly. "I've found something alright, Scooby… we have to go warn the girls. Come on."

Fred hurried from the office, pushing his way past the small employee door that now swung weakly on its old hinges. The Great Dane followed quickly, chancing one glance back at the closet door that had Fred so intrigued.

The blonde man refused to tell Scooby exactly what he had seen in the closet, so Scooby trotted along behind him, a little confused and perplexed by this small mystery. He knew it was something bad… so maybe it would be better if it was kept a mystery as long as possible.

Fred knocked twice on the girl's door, and waited. After a long moment, Daphne appeared at the door, opening it only wide enough to see who it was, and then closed it, unlatched the chain, and let Fred in.

"Did you find them?" Daphne asked, sitting back down at the edge of Velma's bed.

"No. I had no luck whatsoever. I think they've disappeared on us." Fred said.

Velma sat up, fumbling on the table for her glasses. "Nobody can just disappear, Freddy."

"Well, they did." Fred replied. "And they left a hell of a parting gift behind them."

"As in what?" Daphne asked, looking over at Scooby.

Scooby shrugged. "Don't rnow." He replied.

"It's… not pretty… but there were bones stacked in the closet behind the desk." Fred began.

"Rones?" Scooby asked, licking his chop.

"Human bones." Fred amended.

Scooby's tongue stopped in mid-slurp and fell limply to the side, before he pulled it back in his mouth, looking aghast.  
  
"Human bones?" Velma repeated. "Jinkies…"

"Of all the places to be trapped in…" Daphne began bitterly. "It just had to be here. Something bad is going to happen tonight… I just know it."

"Keep your doors locked," Fred said, standing up. "And we should all be okay."

He turned to leave, and only with some reluctance did Scooby follow him. Back in the room, Scooby flopped down on his bed and lay there as if comatose.

Fred sat down at the edge of his own bed, staring absently at the snowed-in window. He wasn't quite sure if it was dark out or not. It probably didn't matter… in the midst of this snow-storm, time was meaningless.

  
But he was almost certain it was nighttime. 

  
Inexorably, the whispers were quietly beginning once again.

~~~~~

Oboebyrd: Skeletons in the closet; yes, I know, corny, but I didn't realize quite what I had written until I proofread it, and I didn't have the heart to change it. It is the _cleaning_ closet, after all, and all those appliances seemed a nice touch. ^_^ Put that in your metaphorical head-dresses, folks! 


	5. Red Velvet

****

Night Whispers

Rating: R, for violence, language, and graphic content

Disclaimer: Don't own Scooby-Doo. Nothing more needs to be said. Well, besides this: I also don't own Hanna-Barbara, so I have no true monetary link with Scooby-Doo at all.

Summary Chapter 5: More snow and two murders marks the gang's third day at Whispers Inn. The story continues strolling along. And yes, those who haven't figured it out yet and those who have, these titles are purely haphazard word usage. Titles haven't been good to me. And also, I seem to have killed Shaggy, and then also Fred's personality. Oops. 

****

Chapter 5: _Red Velvet_

Daphne lay awake for hours after Fred and Scooby had left. Her mind raced, filled with explosive thoughts of fear, confusion, hate. Fear for her own safety and that of her friends'. Confusion at the disappearance of the manager and his rat-boy. Hate for them after what had happened to Shaggy.

Of them all, fear was the one that kept her awake. She looked over at Velma… the poor dear had cried herself to sleep, and now was in the state of exhaustion nearing that of the dead.

That was a poor metaphor that sent Daphne's mind spinning into even more paroxysms of sorrow and fright.

She stood up, brushing at her arms. Coldness crawled all over her body like a thousand ants, and she rubbed her hands against her arms compulsively, trying to brush things away that did not exist. Once out from underneath the thin blanket, though, she felt almost warmer, and walked with halting steps towards the vanity in the corner.

The mirror was lined with hair-fine cracks that cast the illusion of tiny wrinkles, wrinkles that seemed to randomly shatter her face. She wiped at her eyes… in her misery, and concern over Velma, she had forgotten to take off her makeup, and now it was smudged over her face.

"I look like one of those crazy monsters we always used to chase…" She said aloud quietly, to herself, blotting at the makeup with one corner of her sleeve.

  
It refused to come off despite all of her attempts, which were half-hearted at best. After a few moments, she dropped her hands limply to her side, and looked at the black streaks painted across her face amid the cracks and illusionary wrinkles, and decided it was not, for the moment, important.

She yawned, and was about to return to bed, when she heard a slight tapping. It was muffled… someone rapping on the door across the hall. Daphne shakily headed in that direction, wincing at every creak as her foot came down on the weak floorboards of Whispers Inn. Every movement seemed to bring forth some groan of displeasure from the hotel, groans that were never heard during the day. 

Every groan made her more conscious of her surroundings. Every groan made the door seem to loom above her more threateningly. Every groan made the snow-blocked windows testify in their darkness that theirs was a more absolute pitch than night. Every groan made the rattling wheeze of the heater in the corner become an ominous growl. 

Daphne leaned her ear against the door, listening. She could hear voices- but due either to the thickness of the door or to her still-muddled senses, she could not make out who they were. A man's voice and a woman's voice… that much was clear, but the words were faint and hardly distinguishable over the rattling whine of the heater.

There was the soft sound of metal hitting flesh, and then silence. Daphne's hands began to shake uncontrollably… that sound… could it mean that the killer was lurking out there, over the body of whoever he had just killed? Or she, depending on who had fallen.

Her hands rested on the doorknob for half a minute, and then she pulled her hand sharply away, as if holding onto it for so long had burned her. 

She didn't want to open the door. Not only because she feared what she would see, but because she feared who might be standing out in the hall. The killer could still be there, waiting patiently for someone to blunder brainlessly into the hallway to see what was going on. 

  
Daphne felt a strong compulsion towards being that person. After all, it had always been her before. From almost every mystery they had ever solved before to Freshmen Gym Class, she had always been the one to stumble blindly into danger first. Unless, of course, Velma lost her glasses, in which case _she_ would become the blundering idiot.

Daphne glanced over towards Velma, who was still sleeping, looking blissfully unaware of everything that was going on. IF anything was going on, of course, for Daphne had not yet totally convinced herself that what she had heard had been anything more than the quiet shutting of a heavy door. If Velma had any concerns or ill dreams while she slept, it wasn't reflected in her face, for the external was often a poor medium for the mind.

  
Velma didn't have her glasses with her now. Daphne turned back towards the door, wiped once more at her mascara-stained face, and unbolted the door.

There was a resounding click, and Daphne jumped. She glanced over towards Velma, as if expecting that the noise had awakened her, but it had not. It had been, in actuality, only a small click as if that of a ticking clock, but to Daphne's already high-strung mind, it seemed more of an explosion from the mouth of a cannon.

She slid the chain-lock open. It dragged across the lock as if a knife-blade across metal, and the hair on the back of Daphne's neck began to stand on end. Her fingers hovered, for one moment, over the lock, not quite releasing it, considering locking the door once again.

No. She had started something, and she would finish it. She had, too often, turned away from any challenge, and though she felt that opening the door now would end up being a mistake, she nevertheless opened the door the rest of the way.

And, with a gasp, dropped to the side of Mrs. Saur, who laid on her side in the hall, one foot still in her room, the rest of her sprawled aimlessly across the carpeting, her face still stuck in the most self-righteous of expressions, her mouth curled open as if ready to deliver a crushing reprisal, not a scream for help. Daphne put two fingers to the side of the old woman's neck, and felt no pulse. She stood up, slowly, and backed one step away. Time to wake up Velma, if not everyone else.

She backed into something warm and solid… something other than the door. 

  
Daphne wheeled around, but before she could cry out for help or just scream at the horror of her mistake, one hand from her foe slapped over her mouth and the other wrapped around her wrists. 

Fear and horror filled her eyes, but even as she fought wildly against him, she knew there was no hope, at least not for her.

Even as the killer forced her to the ground she felt, somewhere in the deeper, darker recess of her heart, that all along, this was what she had wanted.

~~~

Fred woke up, feeling more exhausted than ever. The sleep had done him no good. The whispers had plagued him through the night, biting at his subconscious even as he slept. Even if there had been no whispers, he doubted he could have slept well in the accursed hotel.

He and Scooby had investigated every inch of their room before they went to sleep, and found no further evidence of anything blocking their air supply. Nor any evidence of just about anything else; no dust, no cobwebs, no splinters of rotten wood. Everything in the room was old and worn, but also completely spotless. Fred doubted they had much in the way of room service at Whispers Inn… so how was everything kept so clean?

It seemed like one of the less important mysteries they faced. Fred could really care less what kind of maid service the back-wood dump had. He stood, putting both hands on his back and stretching, grunting at the painfully satisfying pops of his stiff spine.

He quickly got dressed, and headed over to Scooby's bed. The Great Dane was still asleep, his head buried beneath the sheets, the rest of his body hanging out in a position that probably should have been uncomfortable.

"Hey… Scoob… wake up." Fred commanded, tapping the dog on the back.

There was no movement whatsoever… excluding the slight tap of the tip of his tail.

"Come on, Scooby, you can't sleep forever-" Fred began to reprimand.

"Ran roo." Scooby negated.

"Well, okay, but you shouldn't, and we have a lot to do today. Wrestling you out of the bed wouldn't be the way to start the day out right." Fred amended.

There was a sudden, short shriek from the girl's room.

Scooby yelped, leaping into Fred's arms, taking the bed sheet, and coincidentally the mattress, with him, the sheet still wrapped around his head. Fred, taken doubly by surprise, stumbled backwards, getting the weight of the Dane and the mattress full on his chest and a paw in his face for his troubles.

Scooby untangled himself before Fred could regain his wind, running towards the door. Fred stood up, chasing after the dog. 

He beat on the door to the girls' room, and waited pensively. There was, for the longest time, no sound from the inside room whatsoever. After a few moments, the door was slowly pulled open. Velma stood there, her glasses skewed on her face, fresh tears running down her face. "What happened?" Fred demanded, trying to see around Velma into the room.

"D-daphne… she's… she's…" Velma began, and stumbled away from the door, as if in a dream. She pointed towards the inside of the room, towards Daphne's bed.

There, the red-head seemed submerged in peaceful slumber, if not for the thin red line drawn across her throat, and the blood that stained the sheet and pillows there, still shimmering slightly with the vivid red of blood that had yet to completely dry.

Fred stumbled forward, finally falling to his knees in front of Daphne's bed, struck a harder blow than he would have first imagined. Whoever had killed her had taken great care to arrange her, though there was no hiding what had been done.

"H-he didn't just k-kill… kill her he…" Velma began, than burst into sobs again, unable to believe that, at the height of pain of terror, her friend had been raped.

Fred turned slightly back towards Velma, an unreadable expression now clouding his face. "And you didn't hear any of this?" He asked, quietly.

Velma shook her head miserably, looking down at the ground, seemingly horrified with her own inadequacies. "I… I was asleep too deep… I didn't hear…"

Fred stood up, taking Velma's shoulders in his hands. "It's now the three of us. Four, if Mrs. Saur survived the night. We have to find who did this now, or he'll get us one by one."  
  
"But what can we do?" Velma asked quietly. Such horrible and recent shocks had left her feeling muddy and vague. She had yet to overcome the terrible finality of what had just happened.

"Find him." Fred growled. "If I find who did this before he finds me, I'll kill him. No questions asked."

"You can't…" Velma began to protest weakly.

"It's either him or us, Velma." Fred interrupted.

"Him ror rus." Scooby growled an agreement from where he sat vigil by the door.

  
"Him or us." Velma echoed.

"The sooner we head out, the sooner we'll find this. Ready to go?" Fred asked. Fred felt Velma's shoulders shake slightly under the now iron-hard grip he had on them.

"I can't…" Velma began.

Fred nodded. Now every nerve in his body was firing, every cell was burning with rage. Grief. The need, the desire for action. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key to the room he and Scooby had shared last night but would probably not share again soon. "Stay there… don't open up for anyone except Scooby or myself. Understand?"

"Of course…" Velma said, standing up and following Fred and Scooby out of the room. She slowly unlocked it. She stepped halfway in the room, and turned to watch Fred and Scooby head towards the stairs.

"Oh… Fred?" Velma called.

The dog and man turned, looking surprised. "Yeah?" Fred asked.

"Good luck." 

Fred slowly grinned. It might have been meant to look kind and thankful, but to Velma it only looked horrible, twisted in the bleak light of the hall. It might have been called grim, or dour, but not kind, and Velma shuddered to see it's like on his face, which was normally only the portrait of humor or concern.

"Thanks, Velma." Fred said. He and Scooby turned and continued down the hall. Despite his earlier bravado he had an odd feeling about this. The whispers were beginning to mumble to him once again.

Velma watched them go for only half a moment, and then pulled the door shut and locked it. The sound of the deadbolt turning and clicking shut echoed like a cannon in her ears.

~~~~~

Oboebyrd: Oddly enough, this chapter took me the longest to write, and for other reasons than the fact that it is one of the longer chapters. I wrote the first four chapters, than the last two, and thus worked myself into a kind of corner, where I had to fulfill the expectations of the next two chapters and still maintain the continuity of the first four. 

Note to self and to others: Don't do that. It may seem like a fun way to get the ideas out of your head, but that's what outlines are for. Write an outline, and put those fragments of story you just can't get out of your mind underneath the part of the outline it fits in. Saves time and trouble. Trust me. I've written quite a bit, tried (almost) every way of writing a story, and outline seems to work a little better than just taking each moment as it comes. Unless, of course, it's a comically-centered fiction. Those don't have rules, they just have boundaries, and only if you have taste. ^_^ 

And yes, I was thinking, "Wake up Velma, moron" to myself while writing it, too. But it was nevertheless a rather bitter ending for poor Daphne. 


	6. Shattered Glass

****

Night Whispers

Rating: R, for violence, language, and graphic content

Disclaimer: I don't own Scooby-Doo. STILL! Wow, do those 'toons ever know how to keep up a defensive front.

Summary Chapter 6: Velma's in the kind of trouble you can't just think yourself out of; can Scooby arrive in time to save her?

****

Chapter 6: _Shattered Glass_

Velma sat in complete silence at the end of Fred's bed, picking absent-mindedly at the sleeve of her sweater. She had cried herself out long before… cried more in the past few days than she had cried for her entire life.

It didn't help. She still felt just as empty inside. And unsafe. 

She wondered where Freddy was, and rather wished he would return from whatever sort of manhunt he had just gone on with Scooby. She thought, now, that she should have gone with them, just to avoid the maddening loneliness and anguish that came with being so alone. But apathy of her own condition had made her overlook what she might feel after the two guys left her alone.

It was… strange. She didn't feel worried at all, even though she was pretty certain that she wouldn't be leaving Whispers Inn alive. The murderer's trail of terror had proven to be merciless, swift, and thus far, unstoppable. The impossible snowstorm seemed only to feed the macabre madness; in fact, it seemed so coincidental as to have been a trap of the killer, though that seemed so infeasible that Velma wasn't too willing to consider it.

She moved to the window, and tapped the glass. She considered, for one moment, opening the window, and attempted to, but the frame would not budge. The heat of the room had melted the snow lying against the glass, and when it was refrozen, it formed an unbreakable barrier against the wood and glass. She couldn't move it, and did not know why she wanted to in the first place.

Velma returned to the bed, sat down, and waited.

Twenty minutes passed, and in that time, there was neither word nor noise from the rest of the hotel. Though she had been far from unconcerned before, now she was truly worried, and she was afraid that soon that concern would work it's way to uncontrollable fright.

Soundlessly, Velma stood and walked over towards the door. She unbolted it, and was about to slide open the chain lock, but reconsidered, and picked up a stout iron candelabrum from the vanity. There were still chips of wax in the slots that once held candles, and Velma picked the crusty flakes out from one slot, nervously, before unbolting the door the rest of the way and cautiously heading out. She held her newfound bludgeon by her side, nervous, but glad to have some weapon, no matter how crude.

The halls seemed longer and narrower now than they did before. Velma was certain it was just a trick of her over-active imagination, but she could not help but shivering from fright and the cold in the freezing hallway. 

Every corner seemed to hold a villain. Every shadow was a beast waiting to attack.

"It's just your imagination, Velma." She chided herself, but still couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following her… or waiting to attack around the next turn in the hall.

It was a short walk to the first staircase, but by the time she arrived, Velma already felt herself a nervous wreck. She was seriously reconsidering setting out in the first place, but even this anxiety seemed better than another minute of sulking over her lost friends.

It was so quiet in the hall that every groan of the old building settling, every creak of the floorboard made her tense. She tried to imagine this place as a hustling, bustling hotel that served hundreds of people each month, but that only made her think of a basement full of corpses to add to the skeletons that Fred found, and made her that much more uncomfortable.

What would happen to them if they didn't find the murderer? Would their skulls be stacked like prizes on the shelves? Would they decorate the tables when Halloween rolled around? 

Velma climbed to the second floor. There, the sunlight glinting in through the windows was a startling surprise. It had snowed so much, and she had become so accustomed of the darkness of the first floor, that she had assumed the entire hotel was submerged in powdery precipitation.

But no, of course, that was silly. 

She moved on with little consciousness of where she was actually going. She explored the second floor, and found it to be identical to the first, though the carpeting was thicker and more colorful, not as worn-down as the first floor's despondent rug. She looked at the carpeting for a long time, trying to figure out why she had never noticed the worn-out carpeting near their rooms until she saw the state of the furnishings on the second floor.

She wondered if the third floor of the hotel had ever been touched. 

Velma looked up at the ceiling, now, investigating the light-fixtures. They were dusty and unkempt. A fat spider hung from one, making a rapid escape up his string to hide in the corner of the light, as if he saw Velma appraising him.

As if for a final touch, the unheated hallways seemed to then remind Velma of their pressing cold. She shivered, and turned around. She didn't know where Freddy or Scooby were, but she didn't feel like looking for them… not on this floor.

Returning to the staircase, she found that the door had jammed shut. With a groan that was a mixture of annoyance and just a bit of fright, she pulled it open with some difficulty. Even once the latch was free of the lock, it still came open slowly, as if it weighed much more than it did, and Velma's efforts were that of a mouse, or some other sort of insignificant creature.

She descended the stairs one at a time, suddenly feeling a wash of dread. Her footsteps echoed on the stairs… but she could have sworn the steps had been carpeted on the way up.

Those contradictions flooded her mind as she pushed open the door leading to the hall of the first floor… and saw the door of her room swinging open on it's hinges.

She was certain that she had locked it… if not locked it, then just closed it. The doors were too solid and heavy to swing open of their own accord.

Velma's heart beat wildly in her chest as she slowly headed towards the door, lifting her makeshift club half an inch with every footstep.

She pulled open the door the rest of the way and turned, to get a full view of the entire room. There was no one there. She took one step inside. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably… no matter how she tried to will them to stop moving, they would not. Her heart raced so quickly she thought it might run out of her chest and up her throat.

So concerned was she over the room in front of her, that she failed to hear the approach of the killer behind her.

The murderer grabbed her shoulder, and spun her around. "Looking for me?" He asked, grinning with the look of surprise and fear that appeared so suddenly upon her face. He spun her out of the room and into the hall, where she tripped over the table outside, upsetting the vase near her hand.

It shattered into a million pieces. Velma rolled onto her back as the murderer approached. "You… bastard…" She grunted, the air knocked out of her from the fall.

"Yeah, I know." He replied, pulling one of the kitchen's butcher knives from his belt.

Velma noticed something else there as well- a gun. She had no clue where he could have gotten one, but such trivialities didn't occupy her for long.

When the killer was close enough, Velma put her feet together and kicked him in the stomach with all of her strength. He doubled over, clutching at his gut, and Velma took that opportunity to grab up the candelabrum- which she had held onto through all of this- and lash him over the head with it.

That drove the man to his knees, a thin trail of blood spilling down the front of his forehead. Velma stood up, shakily, as fear was slowly replaced with horror. "How could you… HOW COULD YOU?!?" She screamed, and hit him heavily with the candelabrum once again.

This dropped him to all fours, accompanied by a groan of pain. Velma stood over him, the candelabrum raised for another blow. "Why?" She whispered.

The killer slowly raised his head, a grin painted on his face, though after those last two blows, Velma had thought he would be too hurt to speak. "Just to hear you all scream." He whispered.

Velma rose the candelabrum with a shout of anger at the same time the killer lashed out, catching her legs and sending her toppling to the floor. Her club bounced across the worn-out carpeting and slid into the open door of her room, and the killer rose his knife high.

Without a thought of anything but self-preservation, Velma rolled to her feet and raced down the hall. She didn't know quite where she was going… away seemed a good enough destination.

The killer stood and barreled after her, swinging the knife erratically. It seemed to slow him more than help him, for his wild swings impaled the blade in the wall more than once. 

But even so, Velma could not out-run him. The door to the stairs was shut tight, and though Velma yanked on it desperately, she couldn't move it. 

The murderer approached and said, with a jaunty air, "Jinkies! Looks like that door is but plumb shut!" He grabbed Velma by the shoulder, spun her around, and stabbed her once, in the chest.

As Velma fell to her knees, mouth opening and shutting compulsively as if trying to suck in air she no longer needed, the killer plucked the glasses off her face, investigated them, then dropped them on the ground. He laughed, and ground them into the floor with the heel of his shoes, listening appreciatively to the sound of shattering glass.

"M-my glasses… I can't… see without…"

"I know." The murdered muttered, grinning.

"You pro-" Velma began, and then was silent.

The killer turned, smirking, and turned to exit up the hall.

"SCOOBY DOOBY DOO!" 

He rose his arm just in time to feed the dog his arm instead of his throat. The knife went flying out of his grip. "God damn dog! I thought I took care of you!" 

Fangs sunk in to the gums; Scooby-Doo lashed his head from side to side, as if worrying a bone or a rabbit. His teeth scraped against bone, and he only snarled as the killer beat at his head with his free hand. The harder he hit, the more Scooby's jaws locked around their prize.

Then, the killer pulled the gun from his makeshift holster, and fired it… twice… into the Great Dane's chest.

Scooby yelped, but for one moment, did not open his jaws.

Then, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he dropped back, coughed a splatter of bloody froth, and fell onto his side, never to rise again.

~~~~~~~~~

Oboebyrd: I have nothing to say. 


	7. Alone with Himself

****

Night Whispers

Rating: R, for violence, language, and graphic content

Disclaimer: I don't own Scooby-Doo, and if I did, I wouldn't do anything like this to them. I like the gang too much. But if they belong to someone else… eh. 

Summary, Chapter 7: Alone, Fred is forced into a showdown with the worst villain the gang has ever faced. Yeah. Here's more angst. 

****

Chapter 7: _Alone with Himself_

Fred awoke leaned against the wall, his head resting against the cool glass of the window.

He blinked sleepily. He couldn't remember coming here, couldn't even remember when he had left his room. "V-velma?" He called, looking down the hall.

Speaking hurt quite a bit… he touched his forehead, and found blood on his fingertips when he pulled his hand away. Someone had clobbered him pretty hard.

There was no answer from Velma, so Fred tentatively tried calling her name again. He had important things to tell her… like how he and Scooby had found Mr. Blank dead, how they had found even more corpses piled on the plush and seemingly untouched third floor.

The second summons proved just as unsuccessful, and, blinking through the red haze that momentarily clouded his vision, he pushed himself up from his nearly prone position against the wall. Velma was probably still in the room, asleep or moping. At least, he hoped she was. 

Through the fogginess of just waking up, and the now perpetual whispering of the damned wind, he realized that the simple act of pushing himself away from the window had hurt more than it should. He blinked once, twice, and focused on his arm, which was beginning to throb with the first complaints of pain.

His left arm was torn to shreds. Flesh hung in goblets off of the bone- muscle and tendons were torn free. There was a copious amount of blood covering the wall and the sleeve and the side of his white shirt, so much blood loss that he felt it was a wonder that he had even woken up at all. 

He pressed one hand to the wound, only abstractly feeling the intense heat given off by the mangled limb. It didn't hurt. Not too badly. He didn't know if that was because he had lost so much blood, because of a concussion from whoever had hit him, or because he was in shock. It was probably the latter. 

Fred finally managed to gain his feet once again, holding his mangled arm cradled with the other. He was not too concerned with blood loss, though he felt he should be. How had he gotten the wound? It looked like… it looked like a dog bite. From a large dog. But why would Scooby have bitten him?

He stumbled down the hall, calling for Velma once again. He saw everything in the hall as if for the first time… the vase lying, cracked, on the floor, the door handles smeared with blood from a hasty hand, the knife-marks in the wall. He couldn't remember when any of it had been done.

He turned the corner, and let out a moan of surprise and pain at what he saw. "Velma! Oh no… and Scooby? God…" Fred dropped down to his knees next to his two last friends.

Two last friends… dead. Velma stabbed… her glasses ground into dust on the ground, the frames mangled and bent. He picked them up, and tried in vain to straighten the metal frames, but they were too badly twisted, and it was not a job for one hand. "I'm so sorry, Velma… I came too late again. I…"

The accursed whispers began to grow stronger once again. "Shut up!" He shouted, leaping to his feet. He turned, angrily, and saw Scooby laying on the ground a short distance away.

Scooby. Shot. As if from a broken dam, everything flooded back to him now. With a shaking hand, he reached towards a weight he had only just noticed in his belt. One he probably would have noticed sooner, had the whispers not distracted him so. 

The gun that he now held was warm- warmed by his body heat as it laid so close to his body. There were four rounds left… two fired. 

__

'I couldn't have done it. It couldn't have been me. My friends… not my friends… how could…'

He stumbled further down the hall, out towards the second story steps. They had tried the front door before, and it was blocked with snow. But if he crawled out through a second story window, it would only be a short fall to the freedom that lay outside.

Every step seemed a new agony. Every time his foot hit the ground, his heart felt like it would burst in his chest. His arm hurt no more than it did when he first awoke, but it was the pain of the memories returning that caused each shuddering breath. Pain a thousand times worse than torn flesh.

__

I remember…

The snow had piled up higher than he thought… so close to the second story window that he felt like he could simply reach out and touch it. With some difficulty he forced the heavy window open one-handed, and reached out. It was no illusion- the snow had really piled high enough for him to touch it when he leaned only slightly out of the window.

__

The look of fear and confusion in Daphne's eyes…

It had drifted, to reach so high, but it didn't feel powdery, as he was accustomed to having snow feel. The warm sun had finally come out and melted the top layer of snow, which had immediately been frozen once again by the cruel cold of the air and the snow lying underneath. The skin of ice over the snow was thick enough to support him, if he belly-crawled across it.

He did. It hurt like hell, but he didn't really mind. '_I deserve it_.' He growled to himself, and continued to slide himself over the ice. Whenever he put down a hand too hard, or tried to push himself up, the ice broke underneath his hands, forming sharp little knives of ice that were, unfortunately, not strong nor sharp enough to cut skin.

The birds were singing. They sang relentlessly. Under any other circumstances it might have been a peaceful melody, but it was maddening, to hear them so happy. The whispers came just as relentlessly as the birds. They were growing louder, trying, he thought, to drive him insane.

They were no longer just night whispers.

"You're wrong, Velma, it's not the wind." Fred muttered.

There was a mystery there; in those whispers and the appellation of the ever-shifting hotel. He could not find the strength to care.

He reached the Mystery Machine after only ten-minutes of the torturous crawl. His hands were numb, but he still managed to beat his way through the top layer of ice, and scraped away at the snow until he could see the roof of the van. It wasn't as well painted as the rest of the van. It needed a new layer of paint… the original, placid white of the van could be seen through the purple coat, an ancient reminder of what once was before.

That didn't matter. Fred sat down on the roof, and contemplated the gun in his hand. He felt the heft, the balance of it. A nice weapon, really, though he couldn't name the make or the model, and really didn't care to find the answer. But it was sleek and smooth, and felt like a stick of burning fire in his cold, blue hands.

He slowly emptied three of the four rounds into his palm, looking at the small bullets. Perfect cylinders of gold. He dropped them out of his palm and onto the snow, watching them roll placidly away down the hump of ice that covered the rest of the Mystery Machine. 

They glinted eerily in the wintertime sun.

Now he contemplated the gun once again. He had never dreamed it would come to this. He had never dreamed that he would be the killer. Still couldn't believe that he was, if not for every sharp memory that stung at him like a cloud of hornets.

He had made a promise. _"If I find who did this before he finds me, I'll kill him. No questions asked. It's either him or us, Velma."_

Either him or us. Both, now. 

Fred spun the cylinder, and looked out over the snow. He held the gun up to his temple. He slowly pulled the trigger.

__

Click

The whispers were growing stronger even now. He knew that he couldn't handle their drone, but that was not why he chose this end. Guilt sat heavy on him, guilt and horror. He did not want to live if his friends could not. Because of him.

He slowly pulled the trigger.

__

Click

This place was beautiful, in the winter. So many birds had come out after the storm had ceased, so many more birds than should be able to survive in such a harsh climate. But they sang beautifully, a fitting funeral dirge.

He slowly pulled the trigger.

__

Click

The icy snow reflected every ray of sunlight directed at it. It lit up the snow like a thousand mirrors. The sun was a pale gray wraith, a winter's sun, but it still brought so much heat and love to the frozen land below. The birds loved it. They sang. They sang.

He slowly pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed through the woods, reverberating against the hotel, over the ice and snow. For one moment, the birds were startled from their perches, flying in frightened clouds into the sky, shrieking at the sudden noise, the unexpected crack of thunder.

Red ichor was painted, steaming, across the snow.

It took only a moment for the birds to regain their courage and return to their perches. Their songs once again joyously filled the air. So light, so free.

Everything was as it should be once again. 

END

~~~~~

Oboebyrd: Oh! Who guessed beforehand that the 'worst villain the gang has ever faced' was Fred himself?

And sorry if I messed up the gun-terms. Not being a gun aficionado, I wasn't quite sure if they were right. I did not mean to imply that Fred was shooting himself in the hand. (As wonderfully angsty and symbolic as that would be.)


End file.
